


Scenes of Other Worlds

by seikaitsukimizu



Category: Static Shock
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-19
Updated: 2005-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:41:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26078920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seikaitsukimizu/pseuds/seikaitsukimizu
Summary: What if the Big Bang never happened?  What if super heroes weren't the norm?
Relationships: Richie "Gear" Foley/Virgil "Static" Hawkins
Comments: 7
Kudos: 4





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LiveJournal 2005.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A world we're well familiar with, one of two heroes on a typical evening.

Static, hero of Dakota, member of the Justice League, scourge of gangs and metahumans, had a reputation that preceded him, and one he always tried to live up to. He always tried to look like the cool, sophisticated super hero people made him out to be, and he often thought of himself in those terms as he surfed the sky. Which meant it was quite a blow to his ego when a seagull crashed into his face, and after he’d gotten the fowl off, it was only in time to smack face-first into a building’s radio antenna.

It didn’t help that his partner was laughing his ass off, either.

“Man, Backpack, PLEASE tell me you got that!” Gear hovered a few feet in the air from where Static had slid down to the building’s roof. “Yes! Upload to the backup! Robin’s gonna LOVE this!”

“Gear, if ANYONE ever sees that tape…” Static sat up and rubbed his face.

“Yeah, yeah. Unspeakable torturous death.” Gear grinned. “It’ll be SO worth it!”

“Nice to know you’re so concerned about me.”

Gear sobered a bit and lowered himself to the roof, his rockets deactivating silently. “Oh yeah, sorry. You okay?”

“Gonna have a shiner,” he could already begin to feel his eye swell, “but other than that, I’m good.”

Gear’s grin returned. “Great! What say we call it a night and you can look back and laugh at this event in surround sound. I especially liked how you shrieked like a banshee.”

“I swear, if I didn’t love ya…” Static called his disk to him. “But I’ll agree we should call it a night. Man, am I gonna be sore in the morning.”

“Trust me. Watching it will make it worth the bruises.”

“How about we chuck the tape and I’ll let you kiss all my owies to make them better.”

“Ohh, tempting. Very tempting.” Gear made a show of rubbing his chin. “Foreplay, or eternal blackmail material…”

Virgil tossed a spark in Richie’s direction. “Laugh it up. I have plenty of embarrassing stories of you.”

“Yeah, but who’d listen to a story when I got streaming video?” Richie flew closer and ruffled Virgil’s hair. “But I’ll still kiss you to make the pain better.”

“Just don’t expect any action downstairs. That got bruised, too.”

“I was gonna ask…” They continued to their gas station headquarters in silence. A quick retinal scan and they were in the underground sanctuary. After Virgil’s story of the future, Richie had designed a small transporter so that they wouldn’t get hurt falling. They began undressing, and the blond winced as he saw Virgil’s body. “Ohhh. You may wanna consider calling in sick tomorrow.”

“Can’t. I have at least,” Virgil paused as he took off a boot, “uh, three cases that only I can do.”

“Better make them the only three.” Richie removed the last bit of his costume and started changing into his civilian clothes. “I told ya being a lawyer and a super hero wasn’t a bright idea.”

“Not all of us can get a cushy job at Wayne Tech.”

“It’s not my fault B-Man likes my mind.”

“That better be all he likes.”

“He hits on me once and I never hear the end of it.”

Virgil went over and wrapped his arms around his lover. “That’s right, cause you’re mine.”

“If you think that’s gonna get you the recording, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“I’m sore, period.” Virgil kissed the pulse point on Richie’s neck, then backed away and started changing into normal clothes as well. “What would I have been if I hadn’t been a lawyer?”

“What?”

“Well, as another job. You said being a lawyer and a super hero…”

“I dunno. What were you gonna be before you became Static?”

Virgil opened his mouth, shut it, then frowned. “I, uh, don’t really know. There were so many things I wanted to be.”

“Huh. You and me both.” Richie sat down and put on his sneakers. “Actually, becoming a genius helped me decide.”

“Yeah…” Virgil picked up a shirt and tugged it on over his head. “Rich, do you ever think about what life would’ve been like if we hadn’t been Bang Babies?”

“I try not to.” Richie started on his other shoe. “Other than you, I didn’t exactly have much going for me.”

“You were so sure we were gonna end up together?”

“At the time, no. Now…” Richie sat back up and took a deep breath. “We were destined. But that’s this world.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning there are a number of factors, decisions, and events in our lives that lead to this destiny. There are countless other universes out there where…I don’t know…I became a crime lord and you’re my boy toy.”

“Now that’s an image…” Virgil’s eyes glazed over slightly.

“The POINT, V,” Richie verbally pulled his friend back to reality, “is that if alternate worlds exist--and they do if my math is right--us getting together isn’t necessarily a given. There’s probably worlds where we’re bitter enemies, or never even met.”

“Maybe…” Virgil finished dressing and stood. “I’d rather think we were meant for each other, no matter what.”

“Yeah, well, romantic as that is, it’s mathematically improbable.”

Virgil walked over and put an arm around Richie’s shoulders. “So let’s stick with the romantic angle until proven otherwise.”

“Virg-”

“Besides, how could there be worlds where we aren’t together? I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“Love doesn’t transcend all, V. It’s a nice notion, but there’s no proof.”

Virgil stepped onto the small transport pad and pulled Rich into a hug. “Then let’s stick with the notion, okay? I’d like to think no matter how crappy either of our lives turned out, we’d still have each other.”

Richie gave him a look, then waved at Backpack to transport them home. “Alright, V. For you, I’ll suspend countless scientific studies and probability equations. Just for you.”

Virgil squeezed Richie’s waist. “I love you.”

“I love you too. And it’s your turn for dishes.”

Virgil groaned as Backpack began the transport countdown. He’d do them, of course. He always did his chores. Still, a part of his mind couldn’t let go of the thought. How would things have turned out if there hadn’t been a Big Bang? Would he still end up with Richie, or was his lover right in that certain factors had to be met? It was worth thinking on, at least until he was healed enough that Richie could distract him with more…physical demands.

He grinned as they vanished in a flash of light.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A soccer coach and a single father meet on a field.

Richard Foley--Richie to his friends and the kids--clapped his hands as his lead player captured the ball and dribbled it towards the opponent’s mostly unguarded goal. The game was tied, and even though they were only about halfway through it, being ahead by even one point now could mean the difference between victory and defeat.

He hadn’t thought he’d be such a good coach at soccer, but then, he never thought he’d make it through nursing school, either. Another year and he hoped to have enough to go back and train for a specialty. Though truth be told, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Each program was at least eight months, usually more, and very time consuming. He’d have to give up coaching during the training, and he wasn’t really sure he wanted to.

He didn’t know if he was making a difference in the kids’ lives. He was trying, though, because Dakota was a tough city. In theory, getting the kids into a sport now would help them resist gang recruitment and drugs later. He’d been lucky enough to be mostly invisible to his peers as he grew that he’d avoided most of the pressure. Except in college, but what med student COULDN’T hold their liquor?

He also knew that half his “graduating class” hadn’t actually graduated, and of those that did…well, a significant number were in prison or dead. He even knew Francis, one of the toughest, meanest kids from back then, was in the ICU on a drug overdose. The guy hated hospitals, but when one had a tube down one’s throat, there isn’t much one can do.

He also wasn’t expected to survive. Yet another Dakota High classmate that wasn’t even going to make it to the ten year reunion. And that’s why he spent four days out of his week drilling kids in the art of soccer, that’s why he got up at a God-awful hour after a long shift and short night to hopefully lead his team to victory. If he could save even one kid from a fate of failure, he felt it was worth it.

“Yeah! Way to go, Skota!” He high-fived the kid who’d made a goal just as the referee called half-time. “Alright! Get a drink, then get into formation!” The other team was tougher than he’d thought, and considering how close the game was, it was time for a change in strategy. He glanced at his clipboard, then grabbed his own water bottle as the kids briefly chatted with their parents.

“Richie?”

Richie turned at the unfamiliar voice. New seasons always brought new parents, but he didn’t recognize this one at all. It was a black man, with dreadlocks curling at the back of his neck. He had a fairly muscular build, but his face was gentle, smiling. It took him a minute to place it. “Virgil?”

Virgil grinned. “Man, I thought it was you!”

Richie rubbed the back of his head. Virgil and he had been friends for a number of years, thanks to a common hobby of comic collecting. They ‘broke up,’ so to speak, during sophomore year, when Virgil had been invited to a new science-emphasized school. They’d kept in touch, but by senior year, all they did was send birthday and Christmas cards to one another. He didn’t even know if Virgil was still in town. “Hey, long time no see.”

“So you coaching now?”

“In my off hours.”

“Any of them yours?” Virgil looked over Richie’s shoulder to the assembling kids that made up his team.

“Nope.” Hard for a gay man to have a kid, but he didn’t say that out loud. He was still in the closet, and if he wanted to keep working with kids, he was going to stay that way. “You?”

“Yeah,” Virgil’s grin widened and he pointed his thumb across the field. “Tall kid, the one making faces with his orange slice.”

Richie glanced over. Yeah, it was Virgil’s kid alright. The eyes were the wrong color, but it looked almost like Virgil did when they met. The kid also appeared to have his semi-friend’s sense of humor. “Congratulations.”

“Yeah…” Virgil’s eyes shifted away. “So, uh, good seeing you again. I’ll let you get to your team.”

“Ditto, catch ya around.” Richie nodded politely then turned away and huddled up with the kids. It was a pity Virgil was married. He’d actually had a crush on the guy, once. In high school, when he still wasn’t sure which way he swung. Again, college cured that question right up. And his mother had been afraid his shy nature would prevent him from new experiences.

Huddling with the kids, he briefly outlined the new strategy for his players. Defense was the key now. If they had a window to take a goal, he was all for it, but the main objective now was to prevent the other team from scoring. A brief team cheer and the game was on again. Things went fairly smoothly the third quarter. A few near misses, but otherwise they were still ahead.

The beginning of the fourth quarter, however, was anything but smooth. One of his halfbacks had the ball, opportunity to dribble it back to the other side of the field, and was taking it. That was fine, but number eleven on the other team was heading to intercept. “Pass! Pass!” If anything, his kids were well trained, and the halfback did just that. Unfortunately, the momentum of the kid kept him running just as number eleven realized the ball had moved.

He didn’t even bother yelling out a warning. The collision was inevitable, and rather spectacular, if he did say so himself. The Ref called a time out, and Richie waited to see the situation before running out. His players remained in their positions, knowing better than to crowd a potential injured player. The other team obviously wasn’t as well trained as his own kids, though, as some of them approached the felled boys.

His halfback was fine, a little bruised, a little disoriented, but nothing serious. The kid was up and waving the referee away, giving Richie the okay sign before returning to position. Number eleven--Virgil’s kid, he now realized--was sitting up, but he looked miserable, and he was holding his arm to his chest. “Crap.” He waved at his assistant coach, a mother with too much time on her hands, then jogged onto the field. He spotted Virgil doing the same, sporting a worried look.

Richie reached the kid first and knelt by him. “Hey, you okay?” The Ref stood and sent the gathering kids back to their positions.

“My wrist…”

He felt Virgil squat next to him, but ignored the father. “Why don’t we get off the field and I’ll look at it, okay?”

“O-okay.” The kid looked to Virgil, who immediately helped get the player to his feet.

Richie indicated a bench on his side of the field with a nod of his head. Coaches were mandated to have first aid supplies. He just preferred to have a proper work area in case any injuries did occur. He spotted the other coach sending in a replacement player and they made brief eye contact. His nursing job was fairly well known in the league, but he still needed approval from the kid’s coach. The man gave him a brief nod, and Richie waved at his assistant coach. She was capable, and would see the game through to the end.

They reached the bench just as the game started up again. He sat next to the kid and offered a gentle smile. “My name’s Richie. What‘s yours?”

“Frank,” the kid mumbled towards the ground, not really looking at Richie.

Richie nodded and reached out, carefully pulling the wrist away from where it was being held protectively against the kid’s chest. “Okay, Frank, let’s see how your wrist is, hm? Can you move it for me?” Frank did so, but he winced as he did. “That’s a very good sign. It means it isn’t broken.”

“Really?” Frank seemed to brighten at that, and shot a tentative smile over Richie’s shoulder. “It isn’t broken, dad.”

“I heard.” Richie felt Virgil place a hand on his shoulder. “So it’s just a sprain?”

“Looks like it. If you want to make sure, I’d take him to get some x-rays.” Richie reached into his first aid back and pulled out a wrist splint. “This’ll keep it still in the meantime, to help it heal.”

“Can I play soccer again?”

“Not today, son,” Virgil said before Richie could say anything. “But there’s nothing that says we can’t stay till the end and see how it turns out, right?”

“Righto.” He slid the splint into place and tightened the Velcro straps. “There, too tight?”

Frank shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”

“Alright. You should have it checked out by a doctor, but until then, go easy on it.” He patted Frank’s shoulder. “You’ll be back playing before you know it.”

“Thanks, Richie!” Frank glanced to the field, then got up and ran down the sidelines as the game passed them.

“Yeah, thanks, Richie.”

Richie glanced over his shoulder, still smiling. “All part of the job.” He closed the bag and stood. “He should be fine, it’s nothing major.”

“I know. I trust your judgment.”

There was a sparkle in Virgil’s eyes that Richie couldn’t identify. He shrugged it off as gratitude and nodded. “Thanks, but you still should still get a doctor’s-”

“Opinion, I heard ya.”

“Right, so…” He glanced over Virgil’s shoulder. “I’d better get back to coaching. Give these mom’s too much power…”

“Right, right.” Virgil’s grin never wavered. “I’ll catch ya around.”

“Yeah…sure.” Richie stepped past the man and headed to his assistant. It was an odd moment during his day, but a few minutes catching up with the goings on had him forgetting all about it. The other team had scored once--revenge for one of their players being taken down--and the game was again tied. They ran it to the last minute, but with a few quick signs to his kids, they managed to get score the winning goal just before the final whistle blew.

A well-played game always called for a well-made lunch. That was another reason he was so popular with his players, there almost wasn’t a weekend that went by where they didn’t end up at Pizza Hut. The parents usually chipped in a bit, so it wasn’t too much of a financial burden. By the end of the day, he had pretty much forgotten even meeting Virgil and his son.

Until three days later, when he spotted the man in the hospital cafeteria. He raised his eyebrows as the concentrating face Virgil was wearing broke into a grin the instant he was spotted. Before he could make an escape, Virgil had taken the seat across from him. “Hello again.”

“Hey, Rich.” Virgil glanced at the tray in front of Richie. “Uh…is that healthy?”

“Bout as healthy as what they fed us in high school.”

Virgil’s nose wrinkled. “Ugh. Tell ya what, I’ll buy you a decent lunch.”

“Actually, I’m pretty much done.”

“Dessert, then.”

“I’m not too fond of jello.”

“Coffee?”

Richie slanted Virgil a look. “What’re you up to?”

“Nothing, nothing. I just, uh, brought Frankie in because his wrist was bothering him a lot today and they’re doing some tests…” Virgil shrugged. “Just wanted to spend some time with an old friend, ya know?”

“Uh huh.” Richie glanced at the wall clock. “Well, the coffee machine on the fourth floor has some pretty good stuff.” He stood up. “You can buy me a cup.”

Virgil stood as well. “You don’t drink the stuff in here?”

“If you think the food looks bad…”

“Nough said.”

Richie dumped his tray’s contents into the garbage on the way out and pushed the call button for the elevator. “So, when’d you get married?”

“Bout…four years ago.”

Richie frowned at that. Frank was at least seven years old. “So…your son…”

“High school sweetheart. Just took us a while to make it…official.” Virgil stuffed his hands in his pockets as they boarded the elevator.

“Ah.” Richie pushed the button for the fourth floor. “So how’d your wife take it when she saw the wrist?”

“She’s, um, no longer my wife.”

“Oh. Sorry to hear that.” He was, a little, but the distance between them from years of no contact meant he couldn’t really empathize for his friend.

Virgil shrugged his shoulders. “It’s no biggie. She happened to like sleeping with guys…and so do I.” The doors opened and Virgil stepped out, glancing back at his friend. “You coming?”

Richie promptly shut his mouth and slipped between the closing doors. Well…that was certainly a surprise. “You…you, uh…”

“Bi, I think is the term you’re looking for.” Virgil glanced around, spotted the vending machines, and headed there, digging out a few dollars. “Frankie’s cool with it.”

Richie followed his friend. “Well, um…that’s good.” He silently accepted the cup of coffee Virgil pushed into his hand and stared at the lukewarm beverage. What exactly did one say after a bomb like that?

“You know, I did have a slight ulterior motive in bringing Frankie to this place.” Virgil lifted his own cup of coffee and sipped it, making a sour face as he did. “This is the best this place has got? Ugh.” The father rested his shoulder against the machine.

“Ulterior motive?” Again, Richie wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Yeah.” Virgil glanced around, then lowered his voice. “My gaydar’s been going nuts around you. So I was wondering if you, uh…you know, wanted to go to dinner or…something.”

Was he being asked out? Richie open and shut his mouth a few times, as if his brain couldn’t quite process that he had, a) been hit on, and b) been asked out. By a high school crush, of all people. Finally, he uttered a fairly weak, “what?”

“You, me, dinner, movie…you know, a date.” Virgil tilted his head, trying to catch Richie’s eyes. “Unless…you’re seeing someone.”

“No, no…I’m…uh, not.” He didn’t date, it was his policy. Because if who he was dating got out…well, his job was safe, but his job as a coach, plus his personal safety, he just tended not to risk it. “You see, Virgil, I…don’t really…”

“Hey man, I know. Discreet, right? No prob. It’ll just look like two friends.” Virgil smiled. “Come on. If you don’t like it I promise not to bother you again.”

“I…” Richie looked to the ground. He’d never been much of a social animal, but privately, when he was home alone on a Friday night, he did admit that he missed going out. And it was just one date, right? What harm could there be in one date? “Alright.” He looked up and nodded. “Friday at eight?”

“How bout seven. You still living in that apartment complex?”

“Seven-thirty. And yeah.”

“Done.” Virgil reached out and punched Richie lightly on the shoulder. “See ya then, Rich.” With that, the man dumped his coffee in the trash and walked away, humming a mindless tune.

Richie stared after him, then shook his head and sighed. A date. A real honest to goodness date. He could handle that. Besides, it wasn’t like he was making a lifetime commitment. Right?  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A police officer struggles to speak the truth to a sculptor.

Virgil Hawkins stormed up the two flights of stairs to his destination and roughly shoved his key into the lock, nearly breaking the piece as he turned it. The door slammed first into the wall, then slammed shut after he crossed the threshold. He headed straight for the kitchen, throwing his bag onto the table where it skidded across the surface and fell to the floor, before digging in the fridge for a beer. Twisting the cap off, he sat heavily in one of the table chairs and glared at the stained linoleum floor.

He hated days like today.

He knew the dangers of being a cop, who didn’t? But Adam was the older guy, and he was the rookie. It was HIS job to take the bullet! But is that what happened? No! His partner had pushed him to the side and taken the hit for him! Virgil had been torn between shooting the gangster punk and shooting his son of a bitch friend!

In the end, of course, he did the right thing. He took down Ebon, and after shooting a police officer, the guy wasn’t going to be back for a long time. Adam would have a few weeks of recovery, but the man would be back and good as new. The outcome wasn’t as important as the principle of the thing! He was the young guy, he was the one Adam was supposed to train, and HE was the one that was supposed to get shot!

Or maybe he was taking the whole thing a little personally because Adam was dating his sister. Nothing too serious, but they’d been in a steady relationship for a few months. And he knew if anything happened to her boyfriend Sharon would have his hide. And he certainly didn’t relish THAT thought. Sighing, he sat back and chugged the rest beer, tossing it into the trash as he finished, then leaned forward to glare at the floor again.

A few minutes later, two hands wrapped around his neck. Under other circumstances, he’d pull away and deck whoever it was before they could get a decent grip. But these weren’t other circumstances. After everything that happened, he hadn’t wanted to go to his empty apartment and spend the night alone. That’s why he’d wasted an hour traveling across town during rush hour. He knew he wouldn’t be alone here, knew that the day wouldn’t completely suck if he stayed the night.

The hands moved to his shoulders, then closed in and a pair of thumbs dug into his spine. He growled as the first few movements caused him pain, but the growls turned to groans as the owner of the hands worked even harder on his muscles. This was why they worked so well together. Whenever one of them had a hard day, the other would know exactly what was needed. They didn’t exactly date, but they were definitely more than mere friends. His partner tended to refer to them as lovers, though he had yet to figure out how sincere affectionate terms were.

A few more minutes and he felt the tension in his neck melt away. He rolled his head back to look into framed concentrating eyes. “God, Rich, you’ve got the Midas touch.”

“You’re resorting to compliments taken directly from my latest reviews?” The blond’s gaze never shifted, still concentrating on Virgil’s back.

“Shut up. I’ve had a long day.”

Richie grunted as he dug his thumbs into Virgil’s flesh. “I can tell. You’ve got more kinks than a gay porn site.” A hand slapped his shoulder. “Lie down.”

“Rich, I’m not in the mood-”

“You want me to work out these knots or not. Couch. Now. Or I’ll just go back to my welding.”

Virgil grumbled, but he slid off the chair, pried off his shirt, and plopped himself face down onto the couch a room away. As partners went, Rich could be demanding, stubborn, and down-right annoying. The man was also very good at what he did, and soon after Richie straddled his waist he felt his spine unwind to the artist’s ministrations. “I’ll sell you my soul to do this every night.”

“Eh, I could make more off my early pieces.”

“Bastard.”

“You know it.” A kiss was placed in the middle of Virgil’s back. “Ya love me anyways.”

“Humph.” Virgil hid his head in his arms. There was a prime example. Did Richie really believe that? Or was it a joke? Virgil could never tell, and while Richie said things like that all the time, Virgil hadn’t once used the L-word. Ever. Considering their history, Virgil tended to lean more towards the ‘it’s a joke’ theory.

They’d met senior year in high school. He’d seen Richie around, but his added responsibilities around the house and at the Youth Center limited his free time, and he tended to hang with the friends he already had. Then, senior year, Virgil had taken an art class. Colleges liked well-rounded students and all. Richie was in it, and he wasn’t just a student, he was an artist, in every sense of the word. The teen worked with some pottery, some painting, but his specialty was metal sculptures.

A few weeks into the class Richie had asked if anyone wanted to model. The art school wanted human sketches for a portfolio, and that was one thing Richie wasn’t very good at. The guy seemed like a nice enough kid, so Virgil figured what the hell. It was an easy fifty bucks. They met after school, went to an empty classroom, and Richie began sketching.

The Grecian pose was the hardest for him to do, mainly because the place was freezing and he’d had to strip down to his boxers. Still, who was he to turn down good money? Plus, he’d noticed Richie actually looked cute concentrating: a pout that never let up, furrowed brow, and a fire of passion in the eyes. Virgil’d never seen a student so focused, so involved in one project.

He knew what the term gay meant, he’d just never really thought of himself that way. Hell, even to this day he didn’t. He enjoyed going to all those bachelor parties thrown for his fellow officers. But that day in Richie’s studio…he had an overwhelming urge to touch the artist, to see that passion directed at him, rather than some drawing. It wasn’t that he was suddenly switching his sexuality, he was just…curious.

Patience had never been one of Virgil’s strong suits, and as a teenager his self-control was rather…non-existent. Before he knew what he was doing he’d moved across the room, pushed the sketch pad aside, and planted his lips on the blond’s. And he’d gotten his wish. The passion was now directed at him, a mix between anger--for disrupting the artist’s concentration--and lust.

They never made it past second base, but something had…started. They became friends after that evening, belonging to two very different worlds, yet they worked together so well. Richie eventually went to that art college, and Virgil tried college for a year, but was eventually recruited into the police academy by Adam, a cop working the campus beat. About the same time, Rich returned to Dakota, tired of his style being “put down and suppressed to be educated about so-called good art.” Virgil was glad to have his friend back, and they’d pretty much picked up where they left off. Friends with privileges.

It’d been rough, especially for Richie. The first few years the artist worked meaningless jobs to pay the bills. Then, about two years ago, the latest sculptures were called ‘genius.’ Richie’s ego never inflated, and while the money was appreciated, Virgil knew his friend was in it for the labor. Richie loved working with metal to create unique and complex sculptures. In another life, he theorized Rich would’ve made a killer inventor.

It also meant his hands were very good at manipulating just about any medium, including his muscles. “You shoulda been a massage therapist for all those years.”

“Shoulda, woulda, coulda.” He felt Richie sit back, clapping his hands. “How’s that?”

“Much better. Thanks.”

“So you wanna talk about it?”

Virgil sighed, then rolled over, Richie moving to sit on the back of the couch so as not to be toppled. “Adam got shot.”

“He gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just…Sharon, and he’s my partner, and he really shouldn’t have…” He reached up and traced a finger down the inseam of Richie’s jeans. “It was just stressful, you know? I was the one the shot was intended for. Adam should‘ve never risked his own life…”

“This hero complex stuff has got to stop, V.” Virgil frowned and looked up to Richie’s face. “Seriously. Your partner protected you. It’ll happen again. Even with other partners. Stressing isn’t gonna make it any easier. Adam’ll survive, that’s the important thing. You can‘t protect every single person, and you shouldn‘t go nuts when someone gets hurt.”

The growl returned to Virgil’s throat. “So if I got shot shielding you, you’d be relaxed about it?”

“Course not. I’d probably tear the shooter’s head off.” Richie clasped his hands together and looked at them. “But I’d also know that you chose to do that, to protect me no matter the risk to yourself. Adam chose to protect you, Virg. He knew the risks, and he did it anyways.” Richie finally gazed at him again. “So stop blaming yourself because someone got hurt protecting you. He CHOSE to. Guilt trips’ll just burn you out and make him regret the action.”

“That’s a cynical view.”

“It’s a realistic view.” Virgil crossed his arms and looked away, scowling. “Would you take a bullet for me?”

“Of course I would! It’s my duty-”

“Not as a police officer, V. As my friend.”

“What’re you getting at?”

“Do you think Adam protected you because of duty, or because he’s your friend?”

“I don’t know! What kinda question is that?!”

“Maybe he knew that your family couldn’t handle another tragedy, and he wanted to spare Sharon the pain.”

His head snapped back to Richie and his voice took on a dangerous tone. That was striking a bit too close to a wound that had never fully healed. “What do you know. You sit here all day in your studio and you barely interact with the real world! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Maybe I don’t,” Richie countered, his voice just as dark, “but you’re punishing yourself for no reason! I’m TRYING to justify what happened so YOU’LL feel better! Excuse me for trying to make a friend feel better!”

“I never ASKED you to!”

“No, you didn’t! YOU came over to MY place, and let me relax you! In all the time we’ve known each other, V, when have I NOT asked why you’re stressed? When have I NOT given my advice, huh?”

“You could just silently support me!”

“You don’t get to pick and choose what you want from me! I’m not some Chinese restaurant! You get the massage, you get the opinions! You get the sex, you get the cold feet against your legs! It’s a package deal, Virg!”

“And sometimes it sucks!”

“Yeah, I know!” Richie pulled his legs over the back of the couch and stood up, his neck-length hair swaying. “And you know what REALLY sucks? I’M never the one that gets to seek you out! I have to wait for YOU to come to ME, and then I have to deal with YOUR shit! You ever think I might want to go to your place for once? Ever consider that I want a place I can be pampered and unload the crap I deal with?!”

Virgil pulled himself into a sitting position. “WHAT crap? You hardly leave this place!”

“I deal with art dealers! I argue with museums! And despite what you think, I DO go out into the world, and I can have bad days as much as anybody! But do I get to go over to your place to unwind? NO! Your homophobic sexually repressed cop buddies might see the QUEER artist and come to the RIGHT conclusion about you!”

Richie took a breath, fumed, then threw his hands up. “I give up! Be miserable that your partner saved your life! Regret the fact he’ll be fine and it’s a happy ending! I’ll be in MY workshop and YOU can go to YOUR place where YOU can deal with this shit YOURSELF!”

The artist stormed off, muttering things Virgil was sure would make some of the toughest cops balk. Virgil collapsed back onto the couch and snarled at the ceiling. Why the hell was Rich upset? It wasn’t HIS partner that had nearly been killed today! He heard clanging noises, and ignored the fact that it sounded like Rich was throwing scrap metal around like a three year old. HE was right, not Richie. Rich could never understand what life as a cop was like, what it felt like to see someone close to you fall to the ground with a bullet in their arm.

And a hero complex? What was that about? Okay, yeah, he wanted to protect people, but that didn’t mean he had a complex. Okay, he was a wee bit more neurotic about it than any of the other guys, but his mom had died because the police failed to protect her. He was just making sure some other kid didn’t have to go through that. Even if it meant sacrificing himself-

Oh.

Crap.

Richie was right. He DID have a complex. And damn if that didn’t piss him off. Richie was right about that, which meant he was probably right about Virgil overstressing himself, too. Damn it, damn it, damn it! He punched a the cushion he was lying on. He HATED when he lost the argument even after Rich had left. Not that they argued often, mostly about politics…or when he was being an ass. Like tonight. He’d gone and thrown Richie’s heartfelt help back in his friend’s face.

His lips thinned as he recalled the latter half of the argument, then thought back through all the years they knew each other. Rich was right, he’d never once had the blond over. Richie didn’t even have a key to his place, although Richie had given him one to the studio right after it was bought. He couldn’t remember the last time Richie just vented to him, but remembered countless nights where he’d laid here, or in bed, and shed all his burdens.

He’d have to ask his father, but he was pretty sure he was officially in an ‘unhealthy’ relationship. And HE was the problem. Richie kept giving, he kept taking…geeze, when had he become such a prick? He got up and headed for the workshop, the other half of the floor Richie rented. It used to be a dance studio, but now it was littered with tables of scrap metal, half-done sculptures, and a number of tools.

Richie sat on a stool on the other side of the room, back to the door, staring sullenly at a pile of metal on the floor. Virgil hesitated, then walked over. Richie didn’t even bother looking up. Virgil stuffed his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t good at talking, that was Richie’s angle. Somehow, though, he had a feeling any physical action he took would result in his balls ending up in his throat.

Which meant he had to figure out how to talk to his friend--no, they were more than that--before he lost one of the most important relationships he’d ever had. “Rich, I…I would take a bullet for you. Even if I wasn’t an officer.” That didn’t get any response. He swallowed loudly, then shut his eyes. “Because…because…” He could do it. It was three little words, and if was ever going to utter them to anyone, it was this man. It wasn’t just joking, or affection, it was the truth, and it was time he faced it.

“Because…I love you.”  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gangster war ends in tragedy.

His arms hurt, his body hurt, his head hurt, every thing hurt. He’d try struggling to get into a more comfortable position, but knew it was useless. For one thing, the ropes binding him were far too tight, and he was tied to the chair in such a manner that his entire form was taut, so even flexing a muscle caused a spasm of pain. For another, he was far too tired, and he had to save his strength for the next time they came to get him, the next time they wanted to ‘play’ with his fragile form.

Instead, Richie Foley sighed, chewing on the green handkerchief they used to gag him. It wasn’t very effective, and in fact if he’d wanted to he could make a hell of a lot of noise. He had, for the first twelve hours he’d been trapped here. But the room they kept him in had thick walls, and for every yell, every scream, every grunt, every whimper, they had punched him to get him to knock it off. So now he didn’t bother. Besides, he’d screamed his throat pretty raw during the electrocution. The aftereffects weren’t a picnic either, with the cramps, the oozing wounds, the smell of burnt flesh…

It was disgusting how Ebon got off on seeing him writhe in pain, enjoying his screams as if they were a symphony. Each time the gangster had placed the wires on his body and connected them to the car battery, he could see the thrill in the black man’s eyes. The chest wasn’t so bad--it hurt, but he could live with it. But when Ebon got bored there and started applying the clips to areas below his waist…

He winced and reflexively tried to bring his bound legs even closer together. He hadn’t cried, even when he'd bit his tongue, but he hadn’t once cried. Lord knew he wanted to, how he wanted to. But they wanted to break him, and he’d be damned if he gave Ebon THAT satisfaction! Besides, it wasn’t the physical pain that made him want sob like a baby.

The door opened and his eyes automatically sought out the intruder. Ebon and his lackeys for another round of ‘torture the rich kid,’ or his personal caretaker, the man he hated more than even Ebon at this moment? The man who fed him, gave him water, made sure the bonds were holding…was the man that had betrayed him. He’d opened both his home and his heart, only to have this asshole hand him over to his gang.

Virgil Hawkins.

He’d known Virgil since they were kids, they’d even been friends up through sophomore year. Then one day everything changed. His father got a job that not only bumped them to a better town, it bumped them straight into a higher tax bracket. He still kept in touch with Virgil after they moved, but between the new money and new life…they lost touch.

Until a three months ago. Virgil had appeared once more, and this time…things were different. Richie was out--his father was furious, but what did he care? He was happy. Virgil wasn’t out, but a night of old friends getting drunk had led to old friends making out to old friends having sex to…well, a relationship, of sorts. Richie was attending graduate school, and while he now had money, he never rubbed it in his boyfriend’s face. Sure, he never asked what Virgil did for a living, but the guy had had money to chip in with the expenses.

Then, one week ago, Virgil betrayed him. They’d gone out at Virgil’s insistence, and he’d sensed something was…off with his pseudo-lover, but figured it was just a bad day at work. They’d never even made it to the restaurant. Halfway there Virgil pulled over the car, gave him this…look, and the next thing he knew two other black guys crawled into the car, and he had a gun pointed at the back of his neck.

His ex-best friend and ex-lover had set him up to be kidnapped.

Since then, Virgil had been his guard. Never around while he was being tortured, but always there a few hours later to take care of him. The guy hadn’t said two words, and Richie was tired of the silence. He’d been BETRAYED, and he had a right to know why, damn it! He was gonna get answers tonight, no matter how much the truth would hurt.

As usual, Virgil came over and pulled the gag down around his neck and helped him take a sip of water from a bottle. He narrowed his eyes as Virgil refused to meet his look. He waited until Virgil was back at the table before starting. “So was it always about the money? Was I just a good fuck until you could get it all set up?” He didn’t bother hiding the venom in his voice.

Virgil’s shoulders tensed, and he heard the plastic bottle being crushed. “I TRUSTED you, V! I gave you everything you could even want--hell, I told off my FATHER when he threatened to cut my allowance, just for you! I LOVED you!” The black man simply stood there, back to him, but he could see tremors running through the man’s body. “It was all a joke to you, wasn’t it? Bag the rich kid and, hey, get a few jollies while you’re at it! What, was I another notch on your belt? Another stupid victim you could brag about to your buddies?”

The bottle flew at his head before he even realized Virgil had turned around. Fortunately, it was just plastic, but it still hurt when it hit his cheek. When he looked again, Virgil was looming over him, visibly shaking. “What’s wrong? You gonna show me you’re just as bad as Ebon?” His mouth became a twisted facsimile of a smile. “Don’t bother! You’re worse, and you’ve already proven it!”

“I didn’t want this to happen! I NEVER wanted you to get hurt, Rich!”

Richie blinked at the almost…hurt tone in the man’s voice, but he wasn’t buying it. “Well, you’ve certainly done a splendid job if it!”

“I didn’t have a choice! When Ebon found out WHO you were-”

“Oh, so you were just following orders? Where have I heard THAT argument before, ‘bro.’” He was pleased that Virgil flinched at the use of the old familiar nickname. “You LET this happen! You could’ve fought it, but you didn’t! You’re nothing but a low-life scum-sucking son of a-”

“He would’ve killed me, Rich!”

“So better me than you, huh?! SO nice to know how much value my life is to you!”

“He’s not going to kill you!”

“Bullshit! I’ve seen it in his eyes! My parents are gonna pay, and he’s gonna get one last joyride before sending me back in a body bag!” Virgil turned his head away. “Or maybe he’s planning on sending me back in pieces! What’s his poison gonna be, huh? Electrocution? Disembowelment? Multiple gunshots? Or hey, what the hell, why not a mix!”

“Just stop it!” Virgil looked him in the eye for the first time since the entire ordeal began. “You’re not going to die! So stop talking like that!”

“I am and you know it!” He met Virgil’s look, and found himself surprised at the pain held within Virgil’s face. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “He’s gonna torture me to death, Virg. He was always going to. You knew that, and you handed me over anyways.”

Virgil shut his eyes, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t want to. GOD I didn’t want to.”

“But you did. You saved your own skin in exchange for mine.”

“No, Rich, never! I would never…it wasn’t just me. He said he’d go after Sharon, after her baby…”

“So, what, the needs of the many justify my death?” Richie shook his head, ignoring how his arms cramped at the muscle movement. “I’m not buying it, V. You sold me out. I loved you, and you turned around and signed my death warrant.”

“I’m so sorry, Rich.” Virgil looked at him again, and Richie could tell what his once-friend was seeking.

“I can’t forgive you.”

“I know.” Virgil glanced to the door. “If I thought I could get you outta here, I would.”

“So you’re not even gonna make the effort to save my life?”

“Ebon, he’s…he’s not totally right in the head. That’s why we follow him, why we fear him. If he found you trying to escape, with or without me, what he’d do to you…”

“How could it be worse than what he’s already done?” Virgil’s eyes averted his gaze again. “Virg…?”

“It could be worse, Richie. A whole lot worse than you know.” Virgil looked to the ground, then back at him. “I want to help you.”

“Then help me.” There was something in Virgil’s stance, something about the body language that screamed…‘wrong,’ just like the night he’d been betrayed. “Please, V. I don’t want to die a slow death.”

Virgil hesitated, then leaned forward and kissed him. Not the demanding, hungry kisses that they shared so often in his apartment. This one was soft, gentle, warm. This wasn’t a physical connection Virgil was trying to make, and the man pulled away after a minute. “If I help you, he’ll kill me.”

“So your hide’s worth more than mine?”

“No, I just…wanted you to know I’m willing to pay the price.” A hand slid behind his head and stroked his hair. “It was never about the sex, never a set up. I love you.”

“Prove it. Save me from this fate.” The look that passed across Virgil’s face set alarm bells off in Richie’s head, but he ignored them. “Please, V. Don’t let him have his way.”

Virgil glanced down to the floor, then nodded, unshed tears visible as their eyes met again. “I love you, Richie.”

The man leaned forward for another kiss, and this one was far more passionate, far more intense. He shut his eyes as he almost lost himself in the moment, in the sensation of Virgil and the intimate contact they shared. For one brief instant, he’d found and connected with his soul mate.

The hand on the back of his head clamped down hard.

His breath hitched in his throat.

Virgil swallowed his scream.

The blade slid out of his heart silently.

“I love you, Rich. I’ll be with you soon, I promise.”

He finally released the tears he‘d been holding back all week.  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of actors rooming together.

There was always something refreshing about rehearsing a new play. Virgil wasn’t sure what it was. It could’ve been the new dialogue, the thrill of impressing the audience, or maybe it was just the fact that he got to dress up in costume and play hero. Or at least, a tragic hero. He blamed his teenage years, between all the dreams of wanting to be a costumed hero and performing on stage to impress the girls, he fell in love with the theater.

Something his room mate teased him relentlessly about. Ever since he first played Mercutio in sophomore year, Richie found some angle about everything he performed in to mock. It was in jest, of course, as was their way. Rich teased him about his plays, and he teased the blond about the kiddie video games the software company made him work on. Really pathetic stuff, involving Muppets, Disney characters, and once he thought he saw Tinkie Winky on his friend’s computer screen.

It wasn’t quite where they saw themselves after graduating college. Neither of them did graduate, officially. Rich had quit for a full-time job at a Microsoft subdivision specializing in educational games, and he’d fallen in love with the theater. His Pops was upset, of course, but the call was just too strong to ignore. He wasn’t aiming to make it big, and if he did it’d be great, but all that mattered to him was the energy, the vibe, that was between him and any audience.

He and Rich shared an apartment, and they barely made ends meet. The blond brought in the majority of money, since working for Microsoft was an actual job. And he…well, he always managed to cover utilities and groceries--a feat, considering how much electricity and food his friend consumed. It was hard, but it didn’t suck, and that was the important thing.

This week, he was practicing for Edward the Second, the part of…Edward, of course. A minor play, wasn’t really expected to bring much in, but he wasn’t always in it for the cash. “Here, take my crown--the life of Edward, too. Two kings in England cannot reign at once. But stay awhile; let me be King till night, that I may gaze upon this glittering crown; so shall my eyes receive their last content, my head, the latest honor due to it.”

“You know,” Richie’s voice floated out from the bedroom, “that’s a gay play.”

“So says the man trying on a dress.”

“Kilt, V. It’s a kilt.” A muffled curse followed the clarification. “Damned wool.”

“What’s that for again?” He sat on the edge of the coffee table--a stable, but very used piece of furniture he and Rich had picked up at a garage sale-- and skimmed through the play. He had the words down, but he still felt the voice was wrong. He was the king for Christ’s sake! He needed to sound more authoritative, more forceful.

“Historical reenactment. Since I have some Scandinavian blood that ties back to Scotland, they thought I’d be best in native garb.”

“Why’re you even bothering?”

“For the kids, Virg. You remember how boring history was? Besides, it’s tradition.” Virgil could hear the smirk in the blond’s voice. “Why? Upset that your dad asked me instead of you?”

“Hardly. I’m just glad I outgrew those damned tribal masks.”

“Please. You enjoyed wearing those. Especially when you jumped out of the dark to scare the shit outta me.”

“So this is what, payback? I have to admit, you in drag is a terrifying concept.” A grin crept across his face at the amusing visual.

“Shaddup.” He heard Richie come out of the room, but didn’t look up, still reading his lines and cycling through various voices in his head. “And you changed the subject. That’s still a gay play.”

“So? It conveys a powerful message.”

“That if you’re queer you get a hot poker shoved up your ass, and not metaphorically?”

“You’re a riot, Rich, you know tha-” His mouth stopped as he looked up and saw his room mate. His friend was wearing a Scottish flannel kilt, an emblem stitched into the lower right corner. The blond was also wearing fur-lined boots that traveled halfway up the calves. And that was it. The rest of Rich’s body was covered with a light coat of body paint, and kohl lined the man’s eyes. And when Richie sat on the couch, Virgil swallowed loudly at the rather…expansive view. “Are you going…commando?”

“As is traditional.” Richie wrinkled his nose. “Wool’s a bitch, though. I’m gonna be scratching all night.”

Virgil had another thing he’d like to scratch, and he quickly covered his groin with his playbook. “You, uh, look good.”

“Thanks. I wanted to try the full effect before the day. What do you think? Realistic, or is the paint over the top?”

“N-no. Seems just…just perfect.” It covered most of Rich’s skin, but at the same time it revealed every inch of the pale body, a body Virgil had coveted for the past two years and had never had the courage to act on. After all, as far as he could tell, Richie was straight. There wasn’t a parade of girls every night, but there was almost nothing about the man that revealed anything than utter heterosexuality. Until this moment, with Rich’s legs splayed, the kilt riding up, and a very visible set of thighs that practically made his mouth water.

“Good. Though maybe I shouldn’t be so totally accurate. At least put on a thong so a breeze doesn’t show everyone what I’ve got downstairs.”

Virgil shut his eyes and bit back a very wanting groan. Maybe he should just admit what he wanted to Rich. This was just…too tempting, and he doubted he could fight himself much longer. Abruptly, he stood and headed for the bathroom. He had to take care of this NOW! There was no way he could wait for his friend to fall asleep tonight.

He was so totally not expecting Rich to follow him. On top of that, Rich leaned against the sink, crossed his arms, and gave Virgil that smug satisfied smirk his friend always got when he’d just aced something. It was one of the sexiest looks Virgil had seen, though never had been directed at him like this one was. “You need something, bro?”

“Just wondering if you need help with that.”

He felt a flush spread to his cheeks, and was grateful his dark skin hid this fact fairly well. “I can handle it, thanks.”

“Really? Cause I’d be more than happy to.”

He did a double take, watching the smirk widen and Richie’s eyes twinkle. He couldn’t tell how serious the blond was being, but if this was a joke, he’d SO kill the computer geek. “Well, then by all means.” He stepped back as Rich stepped forward. He didn’t mean to, it was just a reflex. Yet when Rich came closer again…

Another step, though, and his back was against the wall, and Richie was in his face. “Nervous, V?”

“Maybe a little.” His voice did NOT just tremor! He was an accomplished thespian! His voice never failed during a performance. Huh, that was a rather poor choice of words.

“Don’t worry, Virg.” The light reflected off Richie’s glasses as the man‘s voice took on a deep tone. “I’ll take good care of ya. And then…why don’t you forget the play, and I’ll show you what OTHER uses this body paint has.” The feral grin on Rich’s face sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine. The next thing he knew Richie was down by his waist and all thoughts of kings and hot pokers vanished from his mind.  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War changes people, sometimes for the worst...

Richie awoke to the creepy sense that someone was watching him. He didn’t see anyone immediately--his blinds were closed, blocking the moonlight--but he could feel the eyes on him. Slowly, he rolled from his side to his back, looking around the room. It took his eyes a minute to adjust to the darkness, but he eventually made out a shadowy figure in the doorway. It wasn’t some stranger, the dreadlocks were dead giveaway as to who it was.

He didn’t relax, though.

“Heya, Rich.” The figure came over and sat on the bed, reaching up to twine ebony fingers in his blond hair. “Didn’t mean to wake ya.”

“Virgil…” He kept his voice carefully neutral. Francis was away for the weekend, which meant he had to deal with the man alone. Giving away his nervousness would only encourage the dangerous figure before him.

“Didja miss me?” Virgil leaned in to kiss him.

He didn’t pull away, but he also didn’t reciprocate. What they’d once had…it was dead. It’d died years ago. “What’re you doing here?”

Virgil shifted so he was looming over Richie, hands and legs on either side of his body. “What’s it look like.”

“V…it’s over.”

“I still love you.”

And deep down, he still loved Virgil too. The old Virgil. The Virgil that had been carefree and happy and unchanged by three years in a Prisoner of War camp. “I don’t.”

“I can love you enough for both of us.” There was a dark glint in the brown eyes, a hardness that had been Rich’s first sign that Virgil hadn’t returned as the man he’d loved. “Give me another chance.”

“When’d you get outta the hospital, Virg?” He tried to keep some semblance of control. Keeping his voice cool, even, was a start. If he could get his heart to stop racing like a hummingbird, that’d be helpful. “Last I checked, you still needed help.”

“I escaped Iran.” Virgil leaned ever closer, breath ghosting over Rich’s cheek. “What makes you think a simple hospital can keep me locked up? I wanted to see you. I missed you.”

“You should go back.”

“So they can jam more pills down my throat and stick a needle in my ass every few hours? Forget it. No, I’m getting outta here.” Virgil’s hands found his and grabbed them through the sheets. “And I’m taking you with me.”

“Virgil-”

“It’s not a request. It’s an order.”

“Francis will know.” That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Virgil’s entire expression darkened and a possessive growl rumbled from the man’s chest.

“Been unfaithful, have we, Rich?” There was an edge of danger, a threat underlining the question.

He wondered briefly if he could toss his ex-lover off him long enough to snag his cell phone and hit the emergency number. “We broke up.”

“I never did.”

“Virgil-”

“You’re mine, Rich.” Virgil smiled, but it looked more like a predator baring teeth. “Do I need to remind you of that?”

Okay, panic was beginning to set in, but he couldn’t do anything, not yet. He knew Virgil could break almost every major bone in his body without killing him. It’d do no good if he was immobile. He had to gain control, do something to distract the insane man and get help. He turned his head to the side, not wanting to face the twisted grin of his ex-lover. “No…”

“Oh, I think I do.”

His mind raced, trying to formulate a plan, any plan as Virgil clamped his hands over Richie‘s wrists and leaned down to nip at the blond’s collarbone. “Where would we go?”

“Hmm?” The tone was somewhere between mildly curious and uncaring.

“You want to take me with you.” Richie glanced at Virgil as the man moved back to look at him. “Where would we go?”

“Mm…maybe Brazil, Peru.” A hand released him and reached up to trace his face. “Or Africa. See the homeland.”

“Madagascar?” It was the first name that had come to mind. He had to keep Virgil distracted. His cell phone was in reach…he just needed a minute… “Or Tazmania?”

A more normal grin broke across Virgil’s face. “To see the devil?”

Richie grinned as well, the fake grin he always used in court rooms when having to take the testimony of murders or kidnappers down. “Well, what else? I’ve always wanted to see one. And I hear Madagascar’s pretty cool.”

The grin remained in place as Virgil lowered enough to put his face right next to Richie’s. “What’re you up to, Rich? Think you can distract me long enough to grab the phone?”

Rich’s blood ran cold, but he hid his reaction behind a mask. Three years as a court clerk helped him succeed. Still, he couldn’t fool Virgil TOO much. “Maybe…but that’d be stupid.”

“Damned right it would be. I could knock you out this very instant.” A tongue flicked against the curve of his ear. “So what’s the game, Rich?”

“No game.” He fought the base impulses that were still attracted to this man, this shell of Virgil. “Just making talk. You know I tend to babble when I’m terrified.”

“Terrified? Of me?”

“You could kill me.” A slight accusatory tone wormed its way into his voice.

“I’d never kill you,” Virgil quietly responded.

“But you’d hurt me.”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation, and silky steel underneath the word. A reminder of who was in charge.

“I’d rather not end up in the hospital again.” That had been one of the most humiliating moments of his life, not to mention most heartbreaking. That was the day he knew his Virgil was gone, beaten and tortured into oblivion halfway across the world.

“Then be a good boy and do as you’re told,” Virgil purred, but again, there was an element of danger. “Come with me.”

Richie‘s breath started coming faster as he thought up excuses to stop Virgil from kidnapping him. “Francis will look.”

Virgil‘s grin was like a shark‘s. “Let him.”

He took another route. “My firm will look.” Maria and Evan would miss him. They had daily lunches.

Virgil simply shook his head, still holding Richie down. “They won’t find you.”

“The hospital will look for you.” He said it out of desperation, but he knew it was a lie even as he spoke.

The grin widened, and Virgil sat up, legs still straddling him as he kneeled. “They don’t have the resources. They can’t even make sure I keep my pills down.”

Richie felt himself physically collapse, the tension draining away at the knowledge he just had the truth as a weapon. A truth he doubted would change the outcome of this meeting. “I don’t love you anymore.”

Virgil reached up and stroked the side of Richie‘s face with the back of his hand. “You will again.”

“Virgil, please…”

The hand rested on the top of his head, fingers rubbing his hair. “I like when you beg, Rich.”

Richie shut his eyes, fighting the urge to cry. “What would it take for you to leave? To leave me alone?”

A dark shadow crossed Virgil‘s face as he leaned forward slightly. “I love you, Rich. You’re mine, and I ain’t ever leaving you again.”

At one time in his life, the words would’ve made his heart soar.

Now all he felt was a cold vice squeezing around him, and the realization that his life was no longer his.  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Money can't buy you everything...

Virgil stared out the bedroom window of his apartment, wondering what it’d be like to be normal, be common. He used to be, but all that changed years ago, and now he was anything but. Even after all this time, he was changed--he tried not to, but there was no denying that his father’s words were in the back of his mind, nagging him, giving him doubts. If he was normal, he probably wouldn’t have these problems, or at least not to the extent he had them now.

He sighed. Sometimes he hated being rich.

The Hawkins’ hadn’t always been wealthy. It wasn’t until the Dakota Riots that they had come into money. Alva Industries had awarded generous reparations to any families that had lost someone braving the riots to bring peace. It’d knocked him out of his neighborhood, out of his class, and out of his life. It’d been great, at first. New opportunities, new friends, new cooking--a MAJOR plus considering his sister’s talents--new everything.

It was all fake. Money didn’t fill voids, it just made life a little easier. His last years of high school had been great in some respects, but despite all the pictures that showed him smiling, laughing…he had actually been miserable. Money didn’t help him deal with the loss of his mom, didn’t help him handle the false friends and girlfriends that only cared about his status. At least poor he had REAL friends.

That’s why he’d left after graduation for a couple months to tour Africa. He figured maybe finding his racial roots would help him find himself. He wasn’t just miserable, he was lost. He didn’t know who he was, or where he was going. Pops had made enough investments that neither he nor Sharon really needed to do any hard work. The Hawkins could retire to a life of leisure.

Except Pops was still working with the Community Center, and Sharon was going to graduate school for a professional degree in child psychology. And here he was…directionless. He’d been in college for years, and was no closer to graduating at twenty-five than he had at twenty-three. He was the lazy Hawkins, the one that lived off the fortune and did nothing to improve the city that had given him the splendor.

Then there was the whole gay thing. He hadn’t found everything that he was looking for in his ancestor’s homeland, but he had figured out that much about himself. Producing an ‘heir’ for the money was no problem, since Sharon was now married to some musician. Stringer or something, he didn’t really care. Just the fact that he’d come out still made him more of a black sheep. Not to mention his somewhat high profile status in Dakota made dating relatively difficult. And like friends, everyone that was interested in him seemed only after the money or the position. No one saw him for him.

But how could they, when he didn’t even know who he was himself?

After he returned from Africa and dropped the bomb, he’d gone to college, as was expected of him. No major, he just went to a few classes per semester, slowly filling out his general education requirements. He was vaguely interested in sciences, even had a bit of a knack for it, but nothing captured his attention, nothing jumped out at him. Until his third year, when he took a simple physics course.

It was the first class he had actually enjoyed, but it wasn’t just the material. There was a teaching assistant, a kid his age that was majoring in quantum physics and helping out in the lower courses. The guy had jumped a grade or something, but also had to work like crazy to make it. The blond had struck him as familiar, and it wasn’t until he visited Sharon and her then fiance that he knew why: the guy was also a butler.

Well, butler, chef, all around assistant. The guy--Richie--had a multitude of jobs, as it turned out. All to pay for college, because the man’s parents refused to pay for an education. They barely interacted at first, and Virgil actually kept a distance after Stringer fired Richie--he’d never gotten the full story, but he had found from his Pops that it had to do with a fight between Sharon and the musician.

After a while, he offered the blond a job. Not that he had a lot of things that needed doing, but he did tend to miss bill due dates, and it’d be nice to have someone check his homework, plus…the guy was cute. Okay, okay, so he had a little crush on the geeky man. But really, who could resist such an endearing smile, such sharp wit?

The really odd bit, though, was that Richie never treated him as a boss, or a student, or as anything other than an equal. The guy always spoke his mind, gave his opinion, and they’d even had their share of fights. Virgil could never fire the blond, though, usually because their fights revolved around him being an ass and Rich trying to put him in his place.

He could never bring himself to admit his feelings or hit on the guy, either. Apart from the ethics, there was the whole sexual harassment thing where Rich could sue him for every penny his family had. Yet one night, after a particularly grueling midterm, the two of them returned to his place, and got smashed. The entire evening was a blur, but the next morning, he had awoken in Rich’s arms.

And he’d never been happier.

Granted, he remembered nothing between opening the beer and waking up in bed, but at least his feelings would be known now. He’d fallen back asleep, still secure in the blond’s pale embrace. When he awoke again, though, it was to an empty bed, and a frantic geek cleaning up. When he’d called to Rich, the man froze, and the fear, the regret in those blue eyes had twisted Virgil’s heart.

Rich was so sure he would either hate what happened, or would think it was a blackmail scheme, or something just as bad. He’d pointed out it took two to tango, and a drunken roll in the hay was hardly damning. Still, Richie went about cleaning, gathering belongings and obviously trying to resign. Virgil had put a stop to that quickly enough, pinning the smaller man to the wall and planting mind-shattering kiss on the already swollen lips.

About two minutes later the two of them were heaving over the toilet. Not quite how he’d wanted to bond with the beauty of his dreams, but they HAD drunk enough to forget last night. It also apparently hadn’t been Rich’s first trip over the toilet, as alcohol and vomit already permeated the atmosphere of the tiled room. Between heaving bouts, though, he’d managed to convey that he had…feelings…for Rich. And Richie had managed to convey the same back…right before losing what appeared to be the rest of the pizza from the night’s dinner.

Not the best getting together moment in history, but hell, they got together, and that was the important thing.

Life took a much more…complicated turn after that. Pops could…tolerate his being gay, but while not a racist, it was obvious his father was very uncomfortable with Virgil having a white lover. He hadn’t even realized what elitists they’d become until Sharon had brought up that Richie was of ‘lower class.’ Virgil didn’t care that Richie was from his old hood, but they apparently did.

So he very politely told them to get off his back and live with it. He LIKED Richie, really liked the guy, and he’d be damned if his family was going to chase the one man he’d felt a connection with away. Richie didn’t care about class, or that he had money or any of that. The blond made him feel alive, helped center him in a way that he hadn’t been since his mom died. He wasn’t going to lose that, not after he’d been searching for it for so long.

He didn’t know if it was what he said, or if they warmed up to Richie, or what, but they eventually accepted the fair-skinned man into their lives. Pops had them over every few weeks, and Sharon and Stringer loved having Rich baby-sit their new child. They weren’t exactly enthusiastic, but they let Virgil have his fun and dealt with it as well as they could. Secretly, he thought it was because they saw him as the baby of the family.

Despite those events, though, he hadn’t found everything.

He had a major now, electrical engineering. It’d taken him a while, but Rich had nudged him in that direction, and he admitted to himself that he enjoyed the studies. Money wasn’t a factor, and though Richie refused to take a dime from him, the blond was doing better financially. They lived together, they slept together, the world SHOULD be perfect, so why didn’t he feel…right?

He’d never discussed these feelings with his lover, even though he knew he should. Hell, Rich was about as bright as they came. Virgil was stumped, but his friend might know the answer. The problem was, he wasn’t sure he’d LIKE the answer. He had a feeling if he really thought about it, the answer would be obvious, but he didn’t want to think about it. He just wanted the feeling…gone.

Later, lying in bed with nothing but boxers, Virgil felt a chilled hand run over his abdomen. “You should be asleep, Virg.”

“I was waiting for ya.” He tried to smile, but it felt like he failed.

“Liar,” the voice wasn’t harsh or accusing, merely an observation. A kiss was placed on his shoulder. “Tell me what’s wrong, V.”

“Nothing-”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I…I don’t know.”

“You do.”

“I DON’T, Rich!”

“You’re dense, Virg, not stupid.” He was pushed onto his back as Richie straddled him, leaning into his face, eyes piercing him as if they were scanning his soul. “Something’s been bothering you a while, and you won’t talk about it.”

“I don’t want to-”

“Liar.” It was the same quiet tone.

“Don’t call me that! You don’t know what goes on in my head!”

“But I know what goes on in here, V.” A finger traced a small circle over his left breast.

Virgil turned his head away, trying to hide from the intense blue gaze. “I…I don’t know what it is.”

Richie remained silent for a minute, a hand resting over his heart. Eventually, the other hand reached up and tilted Virgil’s head back to face his lover. “You never talk about her.”

“Rich-”

“I can’t remember a time any of you have talked about her. Have you…do you even think about her?”

“Of course I do!” He felt his chest constrict a little, as if the words had pinched a nerve.

“Tell me about her.”

“I don’t remember-”

“You weren’t that young-”

“Knock it off, Rich! Psychology is Sharon’s gig!”

“You’d never let Sharon get so close to you.” Richie laid down on him, fingers tangling in his hair. “She doesn’t see the pain. You don’t let either of them see it, do you. Only me, and you tried to hide it.”

“But I can’t hide anything from you,” Virgil muttered.

“No, you can’t.” A chaste kiss against his chin. “She died doing what she loved.”

“I know.”

“She was trying to save lives.”

A burning sensation was building in his chest, one that was vaguely familiar. He tried to suppress it, but tonight…something was stopping him from succeeding. Richie was stopping him. “She did.”

“Her death brought you to a better life-”

The burning grew stronger. “I’d give it all up.”

“She loved you.”

The thin barricade left between the fire inside him and the real world shattered at Richie’s words. “Then why’d she go out that night?! She knew it was hell out there and she LEFT!” He shoved Richie off him and sat up, glaring at him. “She LEFT us! She promised she’d be back and she NEVER came back! She broke her promise to us!” He felt something warm and wet slide down his cheeks. “She broke her promise to…to me. She left me…” He’d never heard his voice so…young, weak.

Richie reached over and wiped some of his tears away. “You’re angry with her.”

“She promised she’d come back.”

“And she didn’t.”

“She had no right…” He rubbed his eyes with his palms. “God, what’m I saying. She’s DEAD! I can’t be angry at her!”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s wrong! She died saving lives! She died trying to help innocent people! She died-”

“And broke her promise to you.”

He shuddered as the wind was knocked out of him by Richie’s quiet tone. “I don’t wanna be angry, Rich. I love her.” His lover opened his arms, and Virgil quietly shifted himself so that he could be held by the blond. “I have no right to be angry.”

“You have every right, V. You’re her son.”

“That makes it worse. That makes ME worse!”

Richie’s lips brushed against his temple. “No, V. That just makes you human.”  



	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mechanic meets a scientist about a car...

“Hey Gear! Haul your ass out here!”

“I’m busy!”

“Doing what?”

“Your mother! Now shove it, Adam!” Richie heard a growl. “It can wait five minutes!”

“I got a foreign car here! That’s YOUR area of expertise!”

“Just get what’s wrong and I’ll look at it in a minute!” He was rebuilding an engine for Christ’s sake!

“It’s some fancy big shot that wants help now!”

“Tell him the garage will blow up if I leave what I’m doing!”

There was a pause. “Rich…”

“I’m not mixing fuels again!” He muttered, “Jesus, blow a hole in the roof once and you’re branded for life.” A few minutes later he had reached a breaking point and sat back, pulling off the latex gloves. He didn’t get much time to work on his own engine designs, and he hated when he had to be interrupted. Sighing, he stood and headed for the front of the garage.

The funny thing about this situation was HE was the boss. He’d found this abandoned gas station when he’d been a teen. He spent hours after school tinkering with auto parts, killing time so that he wouldn’t have to go home to his wreck of a house. After high school he got a job, went to community college, and after a couple years made an offer on the place. Now he owned it.

It wasn’t anything fancy, and he wasn’t raking in the moola--hell, he practically lived in a rat hole--but it’s what he wanted to do with his life. Fixing cars paid the bills, and trying to create more efficient vehicular parts and cleaner fuel was just a hobby. He’d taken a few courses--still did when he had a little extra cash--and was known around the neighborhood as an honest, decent guy to take a car to.

He spotted Adam immediately as he entered the small shop. Adam was older than him by a couple years, and had appeared on his doorstep shortly after he renovated the place. The guy was only asking for minimum wage and a chance. Richie gave it to him.

So what if Adam had a criminal record for stealing. As long as he was in the black at the end of the month with enough extra to live off of, he didn’t care if the ex-con stole from him. Considering the quality of merchandise, the guy probably needed it if he was willing to steal the crappy junk food. Adam had served his time, and Rich needed help. And thus far, the guy had kept his life turned around.

“There you are.” Adam jerked his head towards the door. “The guy--Mr. Hawkins--is outside. Says to meet him out there.” The man stretched forward a bit. Richie was always amazed at how agile the guy was. “So what’re you working on?”

“Another engine design.”

Adam shook his head, sat back, and pulled out a magazine from under the counter. “You got too many projects, Rich.”

“And you’ve got too few.” Pulling out a fresh set of gloves, he headed outside. Hawkins…he went to high school with a Hawkins for a year or so. That’d been one of the students transferred to the high tech school. His father had always been disappointed he didn’t get invited there--he cut THAT thought trail off before it got too far.

He could see why Adam called him. The ex-con knew the basics of car repair, but this was definitely an import, higher quality than the streets of Dakota usually saw. The car, however, was entirely disproportionate to the man standing next to it. Mr. Hawkins’s hair was a mishmash of dreadlocks, and he wore worn jeans and a shirt. But then, how would he know how the rich lived, or thought for that matter.

Putting on a small smile, he snapped on the gloves. “Mr. Hawkins, what seems to be the problem?”

Mr. Hawkins grinned widely, making him look years younger than he probably was. “Virgil, and the problem is the professor thinks I’m his personal slave rather than his assistant.”

Ah, so it wasn’t Mr. Hawkins--Virgil’s car. “Well, what seems to be the problem?”

“He says it’s the brakes, and to replace the oil, rotate the tires, and check the battery while you‘re at it.” Virgil stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “He said a few other things, but I figure you’ll check all the basics, right?”

“Always do.” It was one reason his clients kept coming back. He didn’t charge them for ALL the work he did, just what they asked him for. He enjoyed the work. Near-mindless tasks freed up his mind to think up new fuel equations and auto parts. “Hood popped?”

“Yep.” Virgil watched him as he lifted said hood. “Do I know you?”

“I think we went to high school for a year.”

“You mean before I transferred?”

“Yeah.” Richie was starting to enter what Adam called his ‘automated response’ phase. He listened to the customers, vaguely processed what they were saying, and regurgitated concise responses. Why? He was otherwise engaged doing preliminary surveillance of the vehicle.

“Some memory you got there.”

“Comes in handy.” He could already tell the professor hadn’t taken as excellent care a car of this caliber needed. Overworked without enough maintenance.

“So you know who I am, you are…?”

“Richie.” He checked the water level and shook his head. “Foley.”

“The guy in there called you Gear.”

“He found me playing around with shift gears once.” Well, actually, it was about once every couple weeks. It was Adam’s version of teasing him.

“They call me Static.”

“Uh huh.”

“Because I play with electricity all the time.”

His mind was now preoccupied with estimating how long it would take to do all the requested work, and about how much it would cost. “Uh huh.”

“And I have the ability to make people stick to the wall just by hugging them.”

“Yeah--what?” He blinked and looked at the black man. It took him a minute to process that Virgil was just trying to grab his attention. “Oh, sorry. Just doing…” He sighed through his nose and shut the hood. “Electricity, you say?”

“Yeah. I work at the Alva Research Lab in the electromagnetic physics department.”

“Huh, interesting.” Richie glanced at the car. “When’s he need it by?”

“He wants it by today.” Virgil’s arms crossed, hands sliding automatically into the armpits. “When can you have it done by?”

“Probably tomorrow, at the earliest.” Assuming no one with a more dire need came in. “Thursday, more likely.”

“Oh, he’ll love that.” Virgil’s grin turned into a smirk. “Think you could drag it to Friday? He’s been riding my ass all week and this would be some nice payback.”

“Assuming I got started right away, probably not.” Richie smirked as well. “But darn it all, you came JUST as I was heading for a long lunch.”

“Well gosh darn the luck.” Virgil glanced to the garage. “So this your place?”

“Yep.”

“Looks cool.”

“Cool? What are you, sixteen?”

“You’d think so to hear my peers talk.”

Richie opened his mouth to respond, but Adam’s voice stopped him. “Hey, Gear! You got smoke coming from the workshop!”

“Oh shit!” He jogged towards the station, looking over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back!” Okay, so he hadn’t been mixing fuels, but he HAD been burning an experimental one. Of course, he’d forgotten all about it.

“You and your memory-”

“Shove it, Stretch.” He ducked into the backroom and headed for the work table. No major fire, just a Bunsen burner blackening a test tube. He shut off the gas, opened the window, and used tongs to set the ruined tube into the sink. Well, that was one experiment ruined. Fortunately, he had notes, he’d just have to remake the mixture, repeat the experiment…

Crisis averted, he shook his head and returned to the front, where Virgil was leaning against the counter. “Sorry about that.”

“So that blow up comment earlier wasn’t just to ignore me.”

Adam snorted, and Richie felt his cheeks turn a bit red. “Dangers of working with gas.”

“More like an easily distracted mind.”

Richie poked the magazine Adam was reading. “Don’t you have stuff to restock?”

“Nope.”

“Then why don’t you move Virgil’s car into the garage bay.” Richie raised an eyebrow at Virgil, who promptly pulled the keys out and placed them on the counter. “And get the reg info.”

Adam made a sour face, but set the magazine down, grabbed the keys, and did as Richie said.

“Cheerful sort, ain’t he.”

“He’s not half bad.” Pulling a stool out, he took a seat and began typing on the computer. “Let me get you the initial estimate for him.”

“No rush. He thinks I’m gonna be here all afternoon until you finish.”

“Not unless you’re staying till Friday.”

Virgil raised his eyebrows. “Well, I dunno your policy on sleeping with clients, but if the bed’s big enough…”

Richie’s fingers slipped on the keyboard, accidentally telling the command prompt to back-up all files. He wasn’t worried about the fact that he essentially locked himself out of his system for twenty minutes, mainly because he was staring at Virgil’s amused face. “What?!”

“Course, I’ve never slept with a mechanic before. If I have to share mattress space with a big wrench, we might have a problem.”

Richie felt his mouth move, but no sound came out. This seemed to amuse the black laboratory man even more, as shoulders began shaking while laughter poured out of the--he had to admit--attractive lips. After a minute, he found his voice again. “Well, no big wrench, but there might be a screw or two you have to deal with.” This caused Virgil to laugh even harder, head lowering to the counter. “Course, I’m not cheap.”

Virgil took a moment to compose himself, raising himself on his arms. “Oh? I heard you had the lowest price in town.” The man said it with a straight face, but Richie could tell the laughter was barely being contained.

Richie was tempted, very tempted, to follow through with the next innuendo, but he DID have work to do. So, he’d make it simple. “Szechwan Court. Seven pm. Tonight. You’re buying.”

Virgil raised his eyebrow, but the man held out a hand. “Coffee at my place afterward?”

Richie shook it. “Will there be chocolate?”

The grin on Virgil’s face was positively lecherous. “White and dark.”

“Then definitely coffee at your place.”

Virgil retracted his hand. “Catch ya at seven.” The brown eyes raked over him. “Wear something…”

“Sumptuous?”

“I was gonna say sexy, but that works.” Virgil waved and headed for the door, still grinning. “Seven tonight.”

Richie continued sitting on the stool, only remembering after the man was out of sight that he hadn’t printed up the initial estimate. Ah well, he’d bring it to dinner tonight. Now, if he could just stop smiling and focus on his work again…

Adam re-entered and took the other counter seat, glancing at Richie. A groan issued from the man’s throat.

“What?”

“You’ve got that ‘I’m gonna get laid tonight’ grin again.” Adam sighed theatrically. “How many holes are you gonna put in the roof THIS time?”

“Hey, Francis was NOT responsible for the explosion!” Yeah, he’d been a wee bit distracted by the idea of running his hands over the red head‘s body… Virgil wasn’t as well built, but there was definitely a subtle sensuality about the man that caught his attention…

“Oh God, you’re thinking of it right now! I can tell!” Adam shuddered and got back up. “I’m gonna go hide the chemicals. Try NOT to crash the computer,” he glanced to the screen, “again.”

Richie made no promises, but he did pull his hands away from the keyboard. Just in case.  



	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just two college students trying to get by...but who has time for love?

Virgil Hawkins, Gotham University student, loved Saturdays, lived for them. Between keeping up his GPA, making sure he stayed qualified for his two scholarships--science and athletic--and his part-time job, he almost never got to recharge his batteries and just chill. But once a week, every week, he crawled into his bed at some god-forsaken hour in the morning, and was allowed to sleep to whenever he wanted. Saturdays were his day off, and he took every possible minute to sleep and hang out as he could.

“V, where the HELL did you put the textbook?!”

Virgil pulled a pillow over his head. He lived for Saturdays, his room mate dreaded them. Because of his job, an internship at Wayne Industries, Rich could only take classes at certain times. Saturdays he had three three-hour classes. Virgil never understood how his friend could keep up at that pace, but Richie wanted a degree in engineering…or nuclear physics…something complicated.

“I swear, if you make me late again I WILL kill you! Where’d you put it?!”

They did share one class, a physics prerequisite. Virgil went during the week, Richie took it on the weekend. They only bought one textbook, figuring they could share. They shared rent, clothes, just about everything…how hard would it be to share a book?

“The freezer? You stuck it in the freezer?! Were you smashed or something--oh great! There goes my bus! When I get home you’re a dead man, V!”

A door slam heralded the departure of Hurricane Foley. Virgil knew he was in for trouble when his friend got home, but hey…everyone messes up every now and then. So he put the book in the freezer. He was probably half-asleep at the time. Yawning, he let himself glide slowly back into slumber land.

It wouldn’t be until hours later that he realized he’d stuffed a frozen dinner in with his homework.

Other than a quick panic attack over that, though, Virgil had a relatively quiet day. Got up around eleven, ate a big lunch, hung around in his bathrobe…an easygoing day. Of course, it wouldn’t last. Around six Richie dragged himself in, threw his bag at the desk and collapsed on the couch. That would’ve been fine, except Virgil was already sitting there, and as much as he liked Richie, he didn’t need his head in his lap. “Hard day?”

“Mmph.” Richie poked him in the chest. “You. Dead. Later.”

Virgil shook his head. They went through this ever Saturday. Well, not the head in the lap thing, but Rich’s vocabulary being reduced to two syllables or less and threatening his best friend, that was usual. “S’what you always say, bro.”

“M’cookin’ up something big…” He brought his hands to his face, and Virgil barely saved his friend from crushing his glasses into his eyes. “GOD, I need a drink.”

“You don’t drink.” Virgil had a beer every now and then, but Richie was constantly afraid of turning out like certain members of his family. “But if you let me up I’ll order dinner.”

“I don’t think I can move.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and shoved Richie up enough to slide out and stand. “I told ya, two classes was more than enough.”

“You want me in school forever?”

“No, but it’d be nice if YOU were around a while. No way I could pay this rent on my own.”

“Oh, I feel so loved.”

Virgil ignored the sarcasm and picked up the phone. “Pepperoni? Supreme? What’s today’s poison?” Richie simply waved at him and threw an arm over his eyes. Today must’ve been REALLY bad to not put in a vote on what type of pizza they should get. He placed an order for his friend’s favorite--it was the least he could do to cheer him up--before grabbing the Datebook section and heading back to the couch. This time, he slid in under Rich’s legs. “Feel like a movie?”

“Do I LOOK like I feel like it?”

Virgil opened the paper. “Man, someone needs to get laid.”

“Unless that’s an offer, shove it. I don’t have the time or energy for a relationship.”

“Neither do I, but you don’t see me bitching left and right.” He felt Richie’s heel dig into his ribs. “Ow! Okay, okay! I’ll drop it.” He skimmed the pages, searching for the TV guide. Maybe there’d be a good old fashioned horror movie. Those always improved Rich’s mood. He paused when he found the daily Horoscope area, and read his sign. He chuckled.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing.” It was a guilty pleasure of his, believing in astrology and such. It was right up there with believing in super heroes and aliens. Richie enjoyed them now, but he no longer really believed they existed. Virgil, on the other hand…

“Come on, V.” He prodded with his foot. “Spill.”

“It’s silly.”

“I could use a laugh.” He muttered something under his breath. Virgil didn’t hear all of it, but he heard one of Rich’s professor’s name in conjunction with a rather violent suggestion involving a rod and a certain piece of said professor’s anatomy.

“Alright, well…my horoscope said ‘your partner will come home tired, a little TLC will fix them right up.’” He shrugged sheepishly.

“You read those, too?” Richie grinned, a little guiltily. “I, uh, catch them from time to time, for some fun. Sometimes though…”

“They’re dead on.” He searched for the sign that held Rich’s birthday. “Gemini. Trials await you this day, be prepared for the worst.” He heard Richie snort. “Beware Cancer, but if an Aries crosses your path, make an effort. It may be your soul mate.” Virgil frowned, and glancing up, he saw Richie had the same look on his face.

“You’re an Aries.”

“Partner? Soul mate?” They looked at each other, then burst out laughing. “Oh, man. Could you imagine what Pops would say? And Sharon…the look on her face!”

“Your Pops? What about mine? He’d go NUTS! Literally!”

“We should stop reading these things! I mean, you and me? We’d drive each other crazy!”

“No kidding! You’re a slob!”

“So’re you!”

“Not as much as you!”

“You snore when you sleep!”

“You fart!”

“You forget your keys in the door!”

“And you put textbooks in the freezer!” They stopped again, then began a whole new round of laughter, Richie actually laughing so hard his face turned red.

Virgil let his laughter quiet as he watched his friend. Richie rarely laughed, really laughed. And when he did, it was only with him. It was…a nice sound. And it did wonders for Rich. He looked so much more vibrant, alive, when he was happy. He glanced to the paper now resting on the back of the couch, then to his friend. He ducked his head.

Richie, finally calming down, raised an eyebrow at his quiet friend. “Something wrong, bro?”

“No, nothing, just…” He quickly flitted his eyes towards Rich. “Aries…and Gemini. You think they’re…compatible?”

“An air and fire sign? Yeah, probably. We could look it up on the net.” Richie tilted his head. “Why?”

“Just wondering…horoscopes seem to be pretty accurate from time to time.”

“Yeah, but Virg…you and me?” He was grinning, but it wasn’t nearly as vibrant as before. In fact, it seemed…uncertain, even hesitant.

Virgil shrugged his shoulders. “Well…we do know each other better than anyone else.” And they certainly had an unusually close relationship.

Richie pulled his legs away and sat up. “Yeah, but…Virg…we’ve known each other since, like, ever. It would make things…awkward.”

“Awkward.” Virgil nodded, shifting ever slightly closer to the other man. “You’re right…it wouldn’t work.”

“Totally not.”

“No way.”

“Never.”

“Ever.”

“V?”

“Yeah?”

“You about to kiss me?”

“Uh huh.” Virgil heard Richie gulp before he closed the final inch between them and met his friend’s lips. As Rich said, it was awkward…for all of two seconds. Then he felt Richie respond in kind, and the next thing he knew he was being pulled down for the make out session of a lifetime.

After a good few minutes, they both came up for air, panting. “So…never?”

“Never.” Virgil leaned down for another kiss.

Richie broke contact early this time, his face flushed. “So, uh…can I take you up on that earlier offer?”

Virgil’s face broke into a huge grin and he stood up, pulling Richie with him. “Anytime, bro.” His grin turned into a leer. “You know what else my horoscope said today?”

“What?”

“I’m gonna bag me a Gemini.”

This time, Richie made the move, pushing Virgil into the wall and capturing his lips. “Not if I bag you first,” he said in a husky voice.

Virgil decided he liked that voice, about as much as he liked the laugh. “Well then…you first, or me?”

In response, Richie grabbed the edges of his robe, shucked it off, and leaned in to nip at Virgil’s pulse point. Virgil, merely groaned, and let Richie lead him to the bedroom.  



	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes disasters can bring two strangers together.

Richie set his burden down on the street curb, automatically moving to the side as Theresa swooped in. The EMT held an oxygen mask to the man’s face with one hand, and used the other to search out a pulse on a soot-covered wrist. He met her eyes briefly, getting a quick nod that she had the guy, and turned around, jogging back to Ebon and Shiv, eyes narrowed as he took in the raging flames still rising from the lobby of the hotel.

The fire wasn’t an accident, it was obvious from the instant he and the others from Station 16 arrived. It was deliberate, and considering the spread of the flames and the damage from the initial explosions, Richie knew it was the firebug F-Stop. “Bastard.”

“Wasn’t random this time,” Ebon told him, using his arms to direct the other fighters where to stand before turning on the hydrants. “The FBI put their guys up here.”

“Fuck.” The FBI had finally recognized that F-Stop wasn’t just a city threat, and had sent in a few people to help catch him. “How many?”

“We’re not sure, but according to the manager’s list, we’re missing the profiler, two security agents, and the pyro-tech guy.” Ebon spared him a glance. “I know you just came out…”

“Where do you need me?” He hadn’t become a firefighter just to stand on the sidelines.

“We got every out from the upper floors, but we can’t get to the ballroom. From all reports, that was the FBI’s temporary set-up.”

“I’m on it.” Richie hooked up his portable oxygen again and took a few deep breaths before grabbing an ax and jogging towards the hotel. He wasn’t nearly as strong as some of the men on the team, but Ebon trusted him with these situations not for his brawn, but for his brain. Richie didn’t consider himself more intelligent than his peers, but it was commonly accepted that his quick thinking was better than anyone else’s.

He didn’t have to be a firefighter, and at times--like now, when the flames reared up higher than his head and tried to wrap around him--he wondered what the hell he was thinking. But then he saved someone’s life and that was always more than enough to remind him. His father’s acceptance of him was a big factor, too. They’d never really seen eye-to-eye, but the day Richie graduated, his father had proudly stood by him.

And it’d remained that way, because Richie kept certain parts of his life very private and very quiet and he would until the day the man died. But those were thoughts for another day. Right now, he was using the ax as a lever to try and dislodge the marble column that had obviously received the brunt of one explosion because it had broken apart from its pedestal and was now barring the way into the ballroom.

With a final growl, he pulled his ax back and stepped away, going through his mental options. After a second, he pivoted on his heel and dodged around a flaming couch, running to the kitchen. He actually coughed upon entering, mostly out of reflex because this room was smokier than all the others. He followed the wall as closely as he could, and sure enough there it was: a servant’s entrance to the ballroom.

And an unconscious man facedown on the floor half trapped under set of shelves.

He set the ax down immediately and squatted, slipping his arms underneath the fallen man’s. A little tugging revealed the man’s hip was wedged between the floor and the shelves. He mentally noted it was a miracle the guy’s dreadlocks hadn’t been ignited, but reminded himself that the day was still young. Looking past the shelves, he saw a room that looked more like a fireplace than anything else, and knew that nothing was alive in there.

It certainly confirmed that F-Stop had used multiple bombs. Sadly, it was not a new tactic, but it had never come with so many casualties before. Then again, this time F-Stop had motivation: getting rid of people that could hunt him out and put him away for a long time. Sighing, Richie grabbed the side of the shelves and pushed, ignoring the burning sensation through the gloves. After a few minutes there was a muted screech of metal sliding on the floor. Richie used his foot and nudged the limp form to the side just enough to unwedge the man.

He took an extra minute to make sure the thing wouldn’t fall as soon as he let go before ducking again and pulling the black man out and hefting him over his shoulder. He was heavy, heavy enough Richie wouldn’t be at his peak running, but he was still fast. Within five minutes he was back out of the building and heading for the ambulance, Ebon giving the signal to turn on the hydrants.

Theresa came over with Shiv--the man had just saved two dogs from the look of things--and helped Richie put the man on his shoulder on a gurney. Richie didn’t hang around this time, Shiv could handle it. He ran back towards Ebon, needing to inform him of the inferno within the ballroom. As he did, he made yet another solemn vow to bring F-Stop down. Gangs were one thing, but a mad fire-bug/bomber was a whole lot worse.

Hours later, the fire was out, the place was being cleaned up, and the Mexican medic was looking him over, muttering in Spanish over the slight burns on his hands. He simply closed his eyes and leaned his head against the ambulance’s side, taking deep breaths. It’d been confirmed, the black man was the sole survivor from the FBI crack team. Two had been burned to a crisp, and the third must’ve sat on a bomb, because only DNA would confirm their identity.

He didn’t have to go to the hospital, but Ebon insisted, because of his hands. Richie was too tired to fight it, so he climbed into the nearest ambulance and sat on the seat. It took him a few minutes to realize it wasn’t Theresa staring at him, and he met the semi-glazed eyes of the dreadlock stranger from the kitchen. Richie offered a small smile. “Hey, it’s alright. You’re out. You’re going to the hospital, nothing to worry about.”

The man steamed up the oxygen mask for a minute, then a scratchy voice made its way out. “Adam…Dick…Maria…”

Richie glanced at his friend, but Theresa was checking the man’s IV drip. He hated questions like that, especially when the answer was something that would upset the person asking. “Just rest up, okay? When we’re at the hospital and the doctors have looked you over-” A shaky hand reached over and touched the back of his hand, trembling and needy. Richie bit his lip. He shouldn’t tell, he couldn’t.

His silence was enough, though, and the man’s voice held more pain, cracking. “No…no no…” There was moisture prickling at the corner of the man’s eyes. Richie swallowed a painful lump, and did the only thing he could think of: he wrapped his fingers around the trembling hand, not squeezing, but being firm enough to try and lend his support nonverbally. It hurt, but it was the least he could do.

When they arrived at the hospital, they were separated, and while Richie’s guilt remained, as it tended to whenever he failed to save someone, he didn’t think much about the man. Since he was hurt in an attack, he assumed the FBI would recall him. Richie got his hands checked out, and reported for work the next day, confined to desk duty for a couple days to allow his hands to heal.

The next week, his rotation off, someone knocked on his door. Since Shiv had already tried to pawn off a puppy (again) on him this week, and it was too early for the pizza to be arriving, he had no idea who it could be. With F-Stop still a large, though, he was wary. Before opening the door, he picked up a baseball bat that he’d hit a homerun with in high school and he considered as his good luck bat.

It took him a few minutes to recognize the man wearing a suit on the other side of his door. It was the hair that finally allowed Richie to match the face with who he was. “Oh, uh…” He glanced from the man to the bat in his hand. “Hi?”

The man was smiling uncertainly, with a tinge of sadness. “Hi. You’re Richard Foley, right?”

Richie tried not to flinch. He hated his full name. It was the one his father used to bellow when he was in trouble. “Richie. Or Rich. Or Gear, if you’re weird like Shiv.” He still didn’t get where the purple-haired firefighter had gotten that name. “And you’re…one of the FBI guys.”

“Explosives expert. Virgil Hawkins.” Virgil didn’t offer his hand, either of them. They were tucked away in his pockets. “Listen, uh, about last week…” He shuffled his feet a moment. “Thank you. I…thanks.”

Richie’s eyebrows raised. He was used to the occasional thank you card, or spontaneous hand holding or hugs right after being saved, but an entire week later, and hunting him down at his house…that’d never happened before. “I’m here to serve and protect.” He paused. “Well, at least against fires.” He looked the man over. “You okay?”

“Yeah. And, um, the news probably hasn’t hit yet but…we caught him.”

It took Richie’s mind a minute to figure out what Virgil was talking about. “Wait, what? And no one called me?! What the hell?!” He turned around, intent on finding his coat and storming the station to give Ebon a piece of his mind. Boss or not, getting F-Stop was big, and he had every right to be there when it went down!

“It was kind of anticlimactic.” Virgil glanced up. Richie realized he hadn’t yet taken the Halloween lights above his door down yet. “He, uh, tried to set fire to the wrong place. The fire started, but the owner of the store was still there and had a shotgun and…”

“Oh…but still!” Shiv should’ve called him at least!

“He was in Gotham.”

That stopped Richie. His unit wasn‘t even involved. Virgil had just come to tell him, unofficially, during his little outpouring of gratitude. “Oh. So, um…right.”

Virgil swallowed, this his shoulders dropped. “Listen, I’ve been going non-stop since the fire and I could really, really use a stiff drink and someone to listen. And I was kinda hoping…I know you’ve probably got plans, but my plane got cancelled and all the hotels are full…and I really, really need to get drunk and deal with this whole ‘nearly burned to death’ thing.”

Richie examined Virgil again, then stepped aside. “It’s not much,” it was, in fact, a pigsty with clothes on the couch and books and papers strewn everywhere, “but I’ve got a six pack of beer and some scotch for the really hard days.”

A relieved look appeared on the FBI agent’s face. “Thank you.” He walked in.

Richie closed the door. “And you can stop that. I was just doing my job.”

“You don’t have to let me in, or help me get drunk.”

“Yeah, well,” Richie shrugged a shoulder, “I’ve been there.” And Virgil was kinda handsome all cleaned up. Not that he was going to hit on a guy that was hurting. “Lemme order another pizza, then I’ll crack open the good shit and we can lament over near death experiences.” Virgil grinned, and Richie grinned back, making a silent vow not to get too drunk and say or do anything he’d regret.

He woke up in the middle of the night, naked in his bed and curled up against an equally naked Virgil, who was snoring softly. He smiled, and closed his eyes again, resting his head against the agent’s firm shoulder. Regret was the farthest thing from his mind as he fell back to sleep.  



End file.
